The Sweetest Fix Page 7

  Leo wiped his hands on a clean rag with a grimace. “Go. I’ll watch the front.”

  “Thanks, boss.” Tad leaned in to hug Leo and got a madeleine shoved in his mouth before he could get too close. “When it comes to customers, just comment on the weather. Compliment a piece of their clothing. It’s easy.”

  “No.”

  “Great. I’ll be back as fast as I can. Hopefully before we get too many Yelp reviews about the curmudgeon owner.” Tad started to leave, but wheeled back around. “Wait a minute, are you wearing cologne?”

  “It’s aftershave. Weren’t you leaving?”

  “Who are you wearing it for?” Tad took a bite of his cookie, giving the obligatory approving eye roll over the taste. “It can’t be the girl you kissed in the doorway. She didn’t give you her number, unless I missed something. And I was taking notes with the single-minded focus of a court reporter, so I don’t think I did…” He popped the rest of the madeleine into his mouth, speaking around the bite. “Unless…did you seek her out?”

  Refusing to acknowledge the heat climbing the back of his neck, Leo glanced meaningfully at the clock. “Your one-hour window is rapidly dwindling.”

  “Oh my God. You did go find her.” Tad sputtered. “This novel initiative from the man who can’t even muster up a full sentence for his customers?”

  “Why do I employ you again?”

  “Come on. Everyone loves a ginger that tells them they deserve cake.” Snorting at that, Leo tried to step around Tad, but his friend and employee blocked his exit. “Whoa, whoa. The bell over the door will tell us if someone is coming in. I want to know the details.”

  Leo tipped his head back and sighed, but there was a part of him that didn’t particularly mind telling someone he was going on a date with Reese. Ever since yesterday, the knowledge that he would be sitting across from her at The Marshal this afternoon had a shaken champagne bottle in his stomach getting ready to pop.

  Yeah. To say he was looking forward to seeing her again would be putting it mildly. Most of the time while baking, he could blank his mind and lose himself in the process. It was part of what he enjoyed about his profession. But this morning, buried elbow deep in pastry and flour and chocolate, he could think of nothing but that kiss. How it seemed to be set in motion the second he saw her on the street. As if them getting close enough to touch was a foregone conclusion. A matter of when, not if. And then when it happened, he’d gotten hard fast enough to make himself dizzy.

  Christ. He’d spent some extra time in the shower this morning thinking about how, instead of being offended, she’d rubbed herself against him, purring at the contact from his tongue. If he hadn’t been so determined to do things right and take her on a date—hold doors, pull her chair out, the whole nine—he wasn’t sure where that kiss might have gone.

  A thought that had required a second shower.

  Noticing that Tad was watching him with amusement, Leo cleared his throat hard. “I’m meeting Reese for lunch. You happy?”

  Tad opened his mouth, closed it. Started again. “So you skipped social media. And instead, tracked her down and asked her out on a date.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Which exact words did you use?”

  Leo tried to walk around him again.

  “Come on, boss! Give me something. You’re not exactly verbose—”

  “I can be verbose with her,” Leo said, positive he sounded like an idiot. “For some reason, it’s easier with her. She doesn’t mind the silences or…she doesn’t seem expectant when I’m not saying anything. So it’s not…rushed, I guess. I like talking to her.”

  It was the truth, even if saying it out loud made his neck burn.

  There was the kissing, yeah. His insane attraction to her. But he was looking forward to lunch because he wanted to hear her laugh. He’d only been in her company twice and already, there was a sense that they knew each other. The awkward getting to know you phase was over, because there’d never been one. As if they’d been intuitive enough to skip that part without feeling like something was missing—and God, he appreciated that. Maybe they were employing the same skill they used to predict what desserts people like? Leo didn’t know. It was unique, though. He wanted to be around her.

  Was it one o’clock yet?

  Again, Leo had dropped into the lake of his own thoughts, hadn’t he? When he glanced up again, it was to find Tad looking dumbstruck. “This is all happening just in time for Valentine’s Day. It’s serendipity. Kismet—”

  “Jesus, get out of the way,” Leo said, pushing through the swinging door.

  A customer walked in off the street at the same time, rubbing her hands together and looking at the glass with undisguised glee. Leo could appreciate that. Of course he did. But when the woman raised her eyes to his and smiled, waiting for a greeting like she might get from Tad or Jackie, he could only seem to muster a grunt. It obviously disappointed the customer, some of the excitement fading from her expression.

  “The fudge is fresh,” he offered, preemptively pulling out a wax paper square from the box. She nodded and continued perusing.

  Had he always been bad at small talk?

  Or any kind of light conversation?

  Yeah. As far back as he could remember, at least.

  Leo’s father had cast a long shadow and Leo had been the pudgy kid standing in it. When an admirer approached Bernard Bexley backstage or at a party, they would make the moment count, as his father was notoriously hard to pin down. They would ask, “What was your most memorable performance?” Or “What inspired the opening dance number of Skipping Stones?” And Bernard would reply with something that left them in tears. Mute with gratitude. In the space of a few sentences, he could have his fans gasping for air or reaching for a tissue.

  Nothing Leo ever said seemed to be anywhere near as important.

  It wasn’t that he wanted attention. Jesus, no. But his youth had been spent listening to a master weave magic to get the emotional response he wanted from dancers. Giving interviews in the living room to the New York Times. Bernard would hold anyone within earshot in his thrall. Eventually Leo was relieved that no one spared him much more than a glance.

  It was easier to say nothing than say something less than brilliant.

  When the customer looked over at Leo, seeming hesitant to call out, he headed toward where she stood, opening the display case she indicated.

  “A half dozen of the mini snowballs, please.”

  “Good.”

  He packaged them up in a box and sent the woman on her way without exchanging another word, relieved when Jackie blew in as the customer was walking out the door. “Well hello, Miss Mary. Did you get yourself something yummy?”

  The lady nearly fainted with relief to have the silence broken. “Yes! I picked up some snowballs to share with my grandson when he gets home from school.”

  “Fantastic. You’ll be a hero!”

  Mary beamed. “Have a good day, hon.”

  Leo stared as the woman left and Jackie bustled in behind the counter. He’d kind of gotten comfortable being antisocial. After all, he’d never been anything but. Was it time to start making more of an effort to fix that, though? This was his business. People probably shouldn’t dread running into him when they walked through the door. Based on how often Tad’s mother fell off the couch, this wouldn’t be the last time he worked the register.

  The memory of Reese standing on the other side of his display case came to mind. What if he’d scared her off that night? Sent her running with a dark look and never found out how…easy it could be to talk to her?

  An unexpected prickle of alarm crawled beneath his skin.

  Yeah. Maybe it was time to adapt a little.

  “Where’s Tad?” Jackie asked, approaching while tying on her apron.

  “Putting his mom back on the couch again.”

  She stopped short. “Hold up. Are you wearing cologne?”

  He shook his head. “Already wen
t through this once. Not doing it again.”

  All right. So he’d start adapting tomorrow.

  Deep in thought, Leo pushed through the swinging door, his gaze immediately straying to the clock. Eight twenty-one.

  Chapter 9

  Reese’s sides heaved, perspiration sliding down her spine beneath her lucky red bodysuit. The blisters in her LaDucas were sprouting blisters. And the woman leading them through the choreography for the audition sure as shit wasn’t doling out recovery time. It was put up or shut up. Reese had made it past the first round of cuts, but there were three more to go. Her legs were as limp as the noodles she’d eaten for dinner last night and her lungs were laboring to keep up with the exertion.

  Boom.

  On came the song again.

  “Positions!”

  Some fuzziness encroached on the edges of her vision. She shook it off and found her mark, the count coming over the loudspeaker. Waiting for the sequence to start, she couldn’t help but observe the competition. The imposter syndrome was real. These girls barely looked winded, so chic in their wrap skirts and crop tops. Their arms were cut, calves toned, lines immaculate. Not a hair out of place.

  She looked like she’d just come out of hibernation.

  And the log she’d been sleeping in had rolled down a hill.

  How did I even make it past the first round?

  Not for the first time today, she longed for someone to talk to. Someone to give her advice, a mentor to point her in the right direction and help her feel a little less lost in the shuffle. Did such a thing exist or was it truly every woman for themself?

  The intro faded and Reese poised her body to execute the steps she’d learned only five minutes earlier, right knee out front, bent, hands extended up. She was auditioning for the chorus of a long-running musical about rival gangs. Getting a part would more or less put her in the background, but what a lot of people failed to realize was the background needed to be completely flawless. It was a swath of fabric and one tear would throw off the balance of an entire number. She chose to think of being in the chorus as creating a foundation for the show to thrive. To build upon.

  God, she wanted it so bad.

  You’ll do it. You’ll get there.

  The beat picked up. Reese kept her default earnest expression on her face, knowing now was the time to let her body do the talking. She rolled her hips, careful to keep any modern energy out of her steps, as the musical was set in the nineteen fifties. Hands up. Pause. Clap clap. Leap. Three, four. Bompbompbomp.

  She shouldn’t have looked at the table where a panel of casting directors and choreographers sat with a stack of headshots in front of them. If she hadn’t looked, she never would have seen them passing her headshot down the line, making notes on the back in Sharpie. What were they thinking? Were they discussing her talent or lack thereof?

  That split second of distraction cost her. The toe of her LaDuca caught the floor in the middle of a turn and she stumbled, watching her headshot float down to the table an instant later, forgotten. They didn’t even let her finish. None of the other dancers broke pace or paid her the slightest attention. The woman reciting the counts waved Reese toward the side exit—and she went, red-faced and panting, managing to scoop up her bag and coat on the way out.

  “Dammit,” she heaved as soon as she hit the street, the cold air turning her sweat icy on contact. Shivering from the cold as much as the humiliation, she shrugged on her jacket, leaning back against the building to swap her heels for flats. When that task was done, she mashed the heel of her hand against her forehead, trying to dull the fresh slap of failure.

  She didn’t belong there. Get thee to Penn Station and get on a bus, Gus. This city is not your friend. More importantly, it didn’t need her. She was trying to shoehorn her way into a seamless process that operated without a hitch. What was she thinking? Spending a sickening amount of money on a closet, embarrassing herself in front of veritable theater gods, missing the audition with Bexley in the first place. She was the mayor of Fuck Up Town. Population one.

  All right, a public pity party wasn’t helping matters, but damn did it feel good. Her nose burned from unshed tears, her feet throbbed, heart twisting painfully as she took one last look at the theater door and limped her way toward the West Side.

  When her phone started ringing, she almost didn’t answer. Unless it was one of the casting directors calling her back to resume the audition, she wasn’t interested. Swiping a wrist across her damp eyes, she tugged the phone out of her coat pocket, skidding to a halt when she saw Leo’s name on the screen, complete with heart emojis on either side of those three simple letters.

  But there would be nothing simple about cancelling their lunch date.

  No way she could go feeling so trampled on.

  Like she’d blown it—again.

  It was more than just failure weighing her down, it was fear of time running out and her having nothing to show for her very expensive last-ditch efforts. Nothing to show for her mother’s encouragement and dedication. This was not a date mood. This was a silent sobbing in the shower with vodka mood. And dammit, she couldn’t deal with her guilt over Leo on top of today’s screw up.

  With a blown-out breath, she answered the phone. “Hey Leo.”

  An oven closed on the other end of the line and Reese could almost smell the chocolate cinnamon heaven of the Cookie Jar. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  She wasn’t expecting his voice to comfort her so much, but it did. So much that she veered out of the dense sidewalk traffic to plop down on a bench. “I’ve had a pretty rough morning.” Her voice caught, making her wince. “Do you mind if we do lunch tomorrow instead?”

  Only the slightest pause. “Sure.” The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. More like they were both giving themselves a few seconds to be disappointed. And Reese found herself squinting in the direction of the bakery, even though it wasn’t within seeing distance. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked, finally.

  The fact that she couldn’t made her throat ache. “Just your average, run-of-the-mill dance stuff. My brain wasn’t connecting with my feet today.”

  “I’m sorry.” A beat passed. “You probably already know this, but off days happen all the time. For dancers, I mean. Even my father had them.”

  She swallowed hard. “Really?”

  “Not that he would admit to it, but yeah. Of course.” She pressed the phone closer to her ear, settling into his voice. “You have a hard job. If everyone was perfect on the first try, there wouldn’t be rehearsals. Tomorrow will be better.”

  Gratitude welled in her chest. “Thanks, Leo.”

  His grunt made her smile. “If it makes you feel any better, my brain wasn’t connecting with my mouth today.”

  Her smile dimmed slightly. “You seem to be back on track now.”

  “Don’t I?” He muttered something under his breath and more bakery sounds ensued, soothing in her ear. “You already know I don’t specialize in customer service, right?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” She noticed a sketchy splotch of liquid on the bench and scooted a little farther away. “I was a customer and now you have my number.”

  “You’re…that’s different.”

  Warmth spread in her belly, the splotch no longer a concern. She suddenly regretted rain checking their lunch date. Three minutes on the phone with this man and she already felt remarkably better than when she’d fled the theater in shame. “Hey, I was thinking…maybe we should have lunch today.”

  “Yeah?”

  She hummed, adjusting the duffel bag on her lap. “I was worried I wouldn’t be good company, but I’m feeling better after talking to you.”

  Leo didn’t speak for several seconds. She waited.

  “What were you going to do instead of lunch?” he asked.

  “Honestly? Take a shower hot enough to scald myself and take a depression nap.”

  His chuckle warmed her ear. “You
could do those things with me.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “What, like a nap date? Is that a thing?”

  “It’s a thing if we make it one.”

  She thought of her postage stamp-sized bedroom and inwardly cringed. “Where would this nap date take place?”

  He gave her one of his signature chest rumbles. “My apartment isn’t far from the bakery. It’s clean. By man standards.”

  Reese leaned back against the bench, wondering if she was crazy for considering this. Going to Leo’s apartment and napping with him. It sounded insane. But she’d been in those arms, she’d felt that strong shoulder against her cheek. After the morning she’d had, she couldn’t think of anything better than snuggling all up in that and falling asleep. However. “Do we really think we’ll, um…nap?” Heat rose in her cheeks. “If we get in bed together.”

  The tone of the conversation was changing. Rapidly.

  Whereas a moment ago, her body was nothing but weary and sore, it was showing definite signs of life, her thigh muscles flexed, her nipples tingling at the prospect of getting into bed with Leo. It was too soon, wasn’t it? They hadn’t even gone out on their first date yet. Although, oddly, nothing about this felt rushed. She was more comfortable with him than guys who’d taken her on multiple dates.

  “I don’t know, Reese,” he said, his voice significantly deeper. “If you want to nap, we’ll nap. If you want something else…” His breath rasped in. Out. “I’ll give it to you.”

  Okay, she was definitely getting hot and bothered on this grimy bench.

  What was it about this man that gave her libido teeth?